Pair Of Earrings Quotes

And I left the aspirin next to the phone with a tall glass of water. Figured you weren’t going to be able to make it to the coffeepot. Take three, turn your ringer off, and sleep. If anything exciting happens, I’ll come and get you.” “I love you, honey.” “So buy me a mink and a nice pair of earrings for our anniversary.” “You got it.

You look... amazing!" And I have to say, I agree. I'm wearing all black - but expensive black. The kind of deep, soft black that you fall into. A simple sleeveless dress from Whistles, the highest of Jimmy Choos, a pair of stunning uncut amethyst earrings. And please don't ask how much it all cost, because that's irrelevant. This is investment shopping. The biggest investment of my life. I haven't eaten anything all day so I'm nice and thin and for once my hair has fallen perfectly into shape. I look... well, I've never looked better in my life. But of course, looks are only part of the package, aren't they?

I got out of the bathtub and put on a black low-cut dress with lace all over it sandly. I put on black high heels with pink metal stuff on the ends and six pairs of skull earrings. I couldn't fucking believe it. Then I looked out the window and screamed... Snap was spying on me and he was taking a video tape of me! And Loopin was masticating to it! They were sitting on their broomsticks.

It is best if your compliments are actually about her, such as how interesting she is, how good she makes you feel, how much fun she is to be around, and so on, rather than any of her accessories. Anyone can notice a pair of earrings, for example, but you are not really interested in them anyway.

The sun beasts the shit out of a dirty road called Raton Pass where the closest thing to a pair of matching earring is a guy named Carl who punches you in the head with his fist.

...you’d best warn them to bring an extra pair of balls , because I’ll be ripping off the first and wearing them for earrings...the red should complement my gown nicely.

You say I’m a demigod. I say I’m a receipt. My dad crafted a pair of earrings for Freya. She married him for a day. She

Stacey is glamorous. She moved to Stoneybrook, Connecticut, from New York City last summer. She’s very sophisticated, and is even allowed to have her hair professionally styled, so that she has this fabulous-looking shaggy blonde mane, and she wears the neatest clothes — big, baggy shirts and tight-fitting pants — and amazing jewelry, like parrots and palm trees. She even has a pair of earrings that consist of a dog for one ear and a bone for the other ear.

But even as she was going through with it she knew it was useless, just as it was useless to save a single earring when the other half of the pair was lost

Nonsense. And don’t you go marrying just anybody, for love,” she said. “Remember that love cannot last; it never, never does; but if you marry all this it’s for your life. One day, don’t forget, you’ll be middle-aged and think what that must be like for a woman who can’t have, say, a pair of diamond earrings. A woman of my age needs diamonds near her face, to give a sparkle.

Admittedly, guilt can be my default setting. After a social gathering, I’m often left with a vague sense of wrongdoing that I try to pinpoint the source of. Had I laughed insensitively or slighted someone unintentionally? And I always feel accused in Nordstrom. The saleswomen look at my jeans and inexpensive haircut and I’m sure they’re thinking I’m about to slip a pair of earrings into my purse. I feel guilty when I eat white bread and when I don’t recycle.

It was silly to remember the stories of us not getting along. The melodrama of any couple breaking apart. My feelings for the man who stayed for a month in the neighboring apartment who made jewelry. He lay earrings on the bedspread and let me pick a pair. Feathers I picked and even wore. Mistaking the relief from loneliness that meeting another fragile soul can bring about, mistaking that for love, but who's to say it wasn't love, or what I felt for Richard, that it was love. Who's to say.

short red pants with purple suspenders over a bright yellow and black sweat shirt. On my feet I put my purple push-down socks and a pair of red hightop sneakers. I added jewelry — a big necklace with wooden bananas and oranges strung on it, and dangly earrings shaped like sunglasses. I fixed my hair. I brushed it until it was full and shiny. Then I rolled up a red scarf and tied it in my hair

Perhaps a necklace of tears to weep so that she won't have to? A pin of teeth to bite annoying husbands? No.' He continues to walk through the small space. He lifts a ring. 'To bring on a child?' And then, seeing my face, lifts a pair of earrings, one in the shape of a crescent moon and the other in the shape of a star. 'Ah, yes. Here. This is what you want.' 'What do they do?' I ask. He laughs. 'They are beautiful- isn't that enough?' I give him a skeptical look. 'It would be enough, considering how exquisite they are, but I bet it isn't all.' He enjoys that. 'Clever girl. They are not only beautiful, but they add to beauty. They make someone more lovely than they were, painfully lovely. Her husband will not leave her side for quite some time.' The look on his face is a challenge. He believes I am too vain to give such a gift to my sister. How well he knows the selfish human heart. Taryn will be a beautiful bride. How much more do I, her twin, want to put myself in her shadow? How lovely can I bear her to be? And yet, what better gift for a human girl wedded to the beauty of the Folk? 'What would you take for them?' I ask. 'Oh, any number of little things. A year of your life. The luster of your hair. The sound of your laugh.' 'My laugh is not such a sweet sound as all that.' 'Not sweet, but I bet it's rare,' he says, and I wonder at his knowing that. 'What about my tears?' I ask. 'You could make another necklace.' He looks at me, as though evaluating how often I weep. 'I will take a single tear,' he says finally. 'And you will take an offer to the High King for me.

Her straight brown hair rarely covered her trademark earrings, which ranged from spoon-like appendages covered in sequins to hoops that a parrot could roost in. Today, she had selected a demure pair of feathers plucked from some species of bird that took mating rituals very seriously, as no fewer than ten shades of greens and blues created a pattern that could cause a seizure disorder if one stared at them too long. 

Her insanely high Christian Louboutin stilettos made a click-clacking sound on the airport floor. Amber rolled a small Louis Vuitton luggage bag behind her. She wore a baby-blue Chanel skirt suit, which made her look like an elegant celebrity. Her hair was long and blond today and pinned up into a perfectly smooth up-do. A pair of gold earrings in the shape of four-leaf clovers and a matching pendant completed the outfit.

Mary.” Turning at the soft sound of her name, she glanced behind herself. Then frowned. “Lassiter?” “I’m over here.” “Where?” She looked all around. “Why is your voice echoing?” “Chimney.” “What?” “I’m stuck in the fucking chimney.” She raced over to the fireplace and got on her hands and knees. Looking up into the dark flue, she shook her head. “Lass? What the hell are you doing up there?” His voice emanated from somewhere above her. “Don’t tell anyone, okay?” “What are you—” An arm came down. A very sooty arm that was encased in a red sleeve that had white trim. Or what had been white trim and which was now smudged with ash. “You’re stuck!” she exclaimed. “And thank God no one lit this fire!” “You’re telling me,” he muttered in his disembodied voice. “I had to blow out Fritz’s match like a hundred times before he gave up. Fuck, that sounds dirty. Anyway, just remind me never to try to be Santa for your kid, okay? I’m not doing this again, even for her.” Mary stretched a little farther in, but the logs on the hearth stopped her. “Lassiter. Why can’t you free yourself by dematerializing—” “I’m impaled on a hook that’s iron. I can’t go ghost. And will you just take this?” “What?” “This.” He turned his hand toward her and there was…a box…in it? A small navy blue box. “Open it. And before you ask, I already cleared it with your pinheaded hellren. He’s not jel or anything.” Mary sat back and shook her head. “I’m more worried about you—” “Justopenthefuckingthingalready.” Taking off the top, she found a slightly smaller box inside. That was velvet. “What is this?” As she lifted the lid, she…gasped. It was a pair of diamond earrings. A pair of perfectly matched, sparkly, diamond… “A mother’s tears,” Lassiter’s slightly echo-y voice said softly. “So hard, so beautiful. I told you everything was going to be all right. And those are to remind you of how strong you are, how strong your love for your daughter is…how, even in the worst of times, things have a way of working out as they should.” Blinking away tears, she thought of her crying in the foyer in front of the angel, crying because all had been lost. “They’re just beautiful,” she said hoarsely. -Lassiter & Mary

In the back of my closet, I saw a pink wrap dress that was hopelessly Southern. Pale pink, with little flutter sleeves all in a Swiss-dot fabric that you could see through if you held it up to the light. I would need nude undergarments, which I was sure I had. My mom always told me never to wear wild undies, you never knew who'd see them! What if I got in a car wreck? I pulled my hair up and allowed a few red curls to fall out of a messy bun at the nape of my neck. I slipped the dress on and gave my lips a quick swipe of gloss. I chose small gold hoop earrings that had belonged to Gran at one time and stepped into a pair of gold flip-flops. I looked at myself in the mirror and reminded myself I was going to a farm. Jim walked in. "Ready for the big... Oh, my God, Magnolia!" "What? Too much?" I said, grimacing. "Good God, no! You look absolutely perfect! You look like a mouthwatering pink confection! A true Southern Magnolia!

None were particularly interesting, although I got a kick out of a note from the Philadelphia Zoo suggesting that since the tiger was not entirely reliable around humans, perhaps Mr. Willing would consider a leopard for his painting instead. It had been a pet until the demise (natural) of its owner and would, if not firmly admonished, climb into a person's lap, purring, and drool copiously. I pulled a sheet of scrap paper (the Stars spent a lot of time sending all-school e-mails about recycling) out of my bag and made a note on the blank side: "Leopard in The Lady in DeNile?" It wasn't my favorite, Cleopatra Awaiting the Return of Anthony. It was a little OTT, loaded with gold and snake imagery and, of course, the leopard. Diana hadn't liked the painting,either, apparently; she was the one who'd given it the Lady in DeNile nickname.I wondered if the leopard had drooled on her. None of the papers were personal, but they were Edward's and some were special, if you knew about his life. There was a bill from the Hotel Ritz in Paris in April 1890, and one from Cartier two months later for a pair of Tahitian pearl drop earrings. Diana was wearing them in my favorite photograph of the two of them: happy and visibly tanned, even in black and white, holding lobsters on a beach in Maine. "I insisted we let them go," Diana wrote in a letter to her niece. "Edward had a snit.He wanted a lobster dinner, but I could not countenance eating a fellow model.

Daniel had given her a pair of sapphire earrings, so she made out well. The women he attracted were gold diggers, but he didn't mind. They met his needs without any sort of commitment. When he needed a date, he had a large list of beautiful women to choose from. These young, gorgeous models kept themselves available because they were lavished in finer things. On occasion, he'd sense some maternal instinct rearing its ugly head and go running. Daniel drove home exhausted. It was four in the morning, but he had to make sure he had a date for tonight's

Why had a gold hoop earring, one of a pair, tuned up on the kitchen floor when she was

Even on her phone, even in this footage in which the woman was so often so frustratingly just out of shot or visible only so fleetingly, it was all the ways that this woman was clearly not Jackson Crane’s wife that kept leaping out at her. Georgia Crane was an outspoken supporter of PETA. This woman was wearing what looked very much like a real fur coat. Nor would Georgia Crane ever have worn a pair of big hoop earrings like that, unless for some film role.

As they reached the end of the lane, the lines of dancers moved together again, and Charlotte and Alex copied them—hands still clutching, gazes locked. The world seemed to suspend in a haze of noise and color. Miss Plim was gone; Lizzie Bennet was gone; all that remained were Alex’s smiling eyes and the disordered beat of her heart. She did not want to breathe lest she break the spell. Here was some magic greater than witchery. She, Charlotte Pettifer, was participating in a romantic ballroom moment such as Jane Austen herself might have composed—albeit without a dreadful aunt in pursuit. Nor a hero who was utterly devilish, with an earring and a hefty sword, not to mention a pair of boots that on their own would be censored from any decent novel. And alas, she doubted the heroine would be quite as worldly as she herself had become this past week. In fact, she rather suspected she would be the villain in a Jane Austen novel. But Charlotte was surprised to find she did not care. Rising on her toes, she kissed that devilish pirate, and thrilled at the smile she startled onto his mouth. It was an imperfect moment, but she would remember it for the rest of her life.

Six-Claws suspected that if she ever killed her mother, it wouldn’t be for power or a throne; it would be for a pair of diamond earrings. And she wouldn’t do it with her claws or her fire — she’d do it by annoying the queen to death.

She had married Subhash as a means of staying connected to Udayan. But even as she was going through with it she knew that it was useless, just as it was useless to save a single earring when the other half of the pair was lost.

He watched the scene unfolding at Rashtrapati Bhavan. The President was administering the oath of office to the charismatic woman. She was dressed in her usual off-white cotton saree, trimmed with a pale gold border, and wore no jewellery except for a pair of simple solitaire diamond earrings. She quite

Even the good kids have the urge to lift a pair of earrings from the mall. Teenagers believe they’re invincible—nothing bad can happen. It isn’t until later that we realize that bad things do, in fact, happen. The kids that are flawless,” he adds, “those are the ones that worry me.

After I pulled on a pair of blue leggings and a long, bright pink sweater, I sat on the end of my bed and put on my new black leather ankle boots. I used a pick on my perm to fluff it out, then put on some mascara and pink lipstick. A pair of big hoop earrings finished the look.

Creative women, especially, have a shattering effect upon me. I envy them so. At the party yesterday, Mike introduced me to a very well-known actress whose work I have always admired. She was wearing a tortured beige dress and a pair of terrible earrings; yet when she spoke I heard a voice that said things I wanted to listen to, a smile that seemed unaware of its charm, but most of all an aliveness that sprang from I don't know where, and made me want to crawl into my Scaasi gown and not come out again until I had decided what I was going to be when I grew up.

My mind listened to the story of the notes as my eyes wandered the crowd until they landed on you. It was as if someone had turned off the music, like an electric shock in my mind. You and your perfectly shaven face, turned toward her, her earlobe between your fingers. Her long earrings reflecting the light in all the colors of the spectrum. A rush went through my belly like a snake. You moved together to the music, you holding her and her holding you. Her hands were on your shoulder, her painted fingernails flashing in the light, her long skirt shifting with the music. This is an imagine I cannot forget: your hands around her waist, your fingers sinking into the fabric of her skirt. They looked settled there, and I was struck by the tenderness in your eyes. I watched you both as if you were a pair of strangers. I tried to tell myself that it didn't mean anything, that it wasn't real. And yet I could no longer look at you without feeling absolutely drained of power. I got to my feet, feeling light-headed, my vision blurred for a moment. I walked home, my hear beating twice for every step I took.

GRETCHEN O, Cady, if thou only knew’st how vile, How reprehensible, how knavish, and How horrible Regina truly is! Thou knowest I may not hoop earrings wear? ’Twas two full years ago she did declare Hoop earrings as her purview only, yea— The bound’ry circular of her domain— Ne’ermore would I be sanction’d in the wearing. When I, for Hanukkah, receiv’d a pair From my dear parents—white gold hoops were they, Expensive in the buying, priceless in The giving generous—yet ’twas my lot To act as though I could not stand the things. She took the ring of me: I’ll none of it, But must contest her wickedness anon. Know’st thou she cheateth frequently on Aaron, Doth make him cuckold for another’s lust? Each Thursday, when he thinks she is engag’d In preparation for the SAT, She earns him horns by being horny with Shane Oman, o’er in the projection room, Which sits above the auditorium. Ne’er have I shar’d this secret with a soul Because I am, I grant, a perfect friend. Yet knowledge of it nearly makes me burst, For Aaron is, in sooth, an innocent man— If there’s a chance of resurrecting love, I’m not above returning to the start, To find out where the heartache did begin.

Good morning!” she called cheerfully as she joined me behind the register and stowed her large boho bag under the counter. A pair of the handmade earrings she sold on Etsy jingled as she moved. Today she wore interlocking circles of gold wire that hung down long enough to peek out from beneath her smart black bob.

You got me another pair of earrings? Amon, I already have more than enough," I'd admonished him softly, gazing at him with tenderness. "You love jewelry, Lizzie mine. And I love gifting it to you. Do you begrudge me this small pleasure?" "Of course not. Never. Thank you," I'd leaned into him, giving him a kiss and allowing him to put the earrings on.

As if with each dress or pair of earrings or shoes or blouse or suggestion for how she wear her hair, he was helping to “improve her.” The implication being, of course, that the original version was somehow not enough.

red pants with purple suspenders over a bright yellow and black sweat shirt. On my feet I put my purple push-down socks and a pair of red hightop sneakers. I added jewelry — a big necklace with wooden bananas and oranges strung on it, and dangly earrings shaped like sunglasses.

Mona rushed through the shower and selected her best dress, a slinky black wraparound number that she ordered on a whim, online. She piled her hair into a messy up do and lined her eyes in black liner with grey eye shadow for a smoky effect. Berry lip stick, dangly silver earrings and a spritz of perfume completed the look. Just as she was slipping on a pair of strappy heels, her cell phone buzzed. It was her Aunt Bee calling. “Darling! The BOGO sale is a great success. Alana says you almost brought the Frugalicious server down!” “I did!” “Blackberry ginger jam is a knock out!” “Well, it may have been knocked off too.” “Whatdya mean?” Aunt Bee asked. “Lacey MacInroy got hold of my recipes, and I understand she’s preparing my jam for the As You Slice It gala reception tonight.” “Why that little rat!” Aunt Bee said. “Are you going to the reception?” Mona asked. “No way! Alexander has never honored, not one of the Coupon Clipper’s requests for a sale. Are you going?” Aunt Bee asked. “Yup. On my way now. Wish me luck,” and as Mona hung up, she heard Aunt Bee squeak out, “Luck with what?” Mona admired her reflection in the mirror and declared herself ready for action. Grabbing her car keys and purse, she nearly stumbled, racing down the front steps. Driving into town, she felt a feeling she had not experienced in a long time, bravery. This new-found liberation from caring about what anyone thought about her was freeing. She felt like her old self once more, that girl she used to be the

Joy is an incredible emotion that is available to all of us! It isn’t found in skinny jeans, trips to Mexico, fancy dinner reservations, a thrilling Netflix series, or even a sparkly pair of earrings; rather, Joy is a deep happiness that comes from within.

After you have bathed and oiled her with the faintest hint of frankincense, use no other perfume. Apply only the lightest of the cosmetics. She is beautiful without them, so let us not mar her beauty." He studied her. "Dress her in a simple white, semi-sheer tunic. The king will enjoy the ability to see her well. But cover the tunic with a pale blue robe trimmed with purple." Parisa hurried to the garment room and returned with clothing that matched Hegai's description. "Do these suffice, my lord?" Hegai took the tunic and robe and nodded. "Soft and beautiful. Yes. This is perfect. Tie the robe with a purple sash. Place a golden pendant around her neck and hang golden earrings from her ears. Let me see her choice of sandals." Parisa hurried back to the room after laying the garments flat on the bed, which had already been stripped of its linens. She returned with an armful of sandals and set them on a chair. Heegai bent to examine them and pulled a pair of intricately carved leather devoid of jewels from the pile. "You will go as a virgin with hints of wealth to show off your character and your beauty. You may wear your mother's ring, but do not wear bracelets. The less distraction you give him, the better. The king, you shall see, likes simple pleasures, despite the ornate designs you find throughout the palace." "And my hair?" Esther's head spun with his quick choices. She sensed by his look that Hegai had planned this for some time, probably in the hopes that she would ask for his help. She breathed a silent prayer of thanks to Adonai, for she knew she could never have decided on her own. Hegai rubbed his chin and had her turn about. Her long dark hair fell to the middle of her back. To wear it down would be scandalous. Her heart beat faster at the thought, for she had no idea what Hegai would suggest or what the king would desire. "Wear it up. Hold it in place with combs that are easily removed. The king will enjoy removing them.

Out of the closet, I had found my natural place on the androgyny quadrant of the gender matrix. I wore my hair long and hung a pair of chandelier earrings on my ears. My sexual orientation, which had always been self-evident, in the words of Quentin Crisp, was also self-claimed.

I was greenly jealous of my peers’ moms with their bleach-blonde hair, tanning-bed arms, toothpick waists, and closets full of brand-new clothes: blouses and skirts and pants and designer jeans that some of the mothers let their daughters borrow. I didn’t know whether Mom’s lack of interest in all things fashionable came from being an immigrant from Scotland—where the media-saturated and commodity-rich beauty industry didn’t take over until the end of the twentieth century—or because she was a reader, a writer, and a teacher: mind over matter. All I knew was that, while she would buy me any book I asked for or take me to any play I might want to see, she couldn’t explain how to contour eye shadow or tell me whether my sweater complemented my complexion. She didn’t diet, she didn’t read women’s magazines, and she refused to buy me the enormous gold earrings or the pair of spiky red shoes I coveted, stilettos sharp enough to skewer fi sh. And even though her disinterest meant I didn’t have to participate in a daily beauty competition—one with a trophy mom sacrifi cing her body on the altar of loveliness—I also didn’t have a beauty mentor that I could trust. So I was left to try to copy the popular girls at school, tv and movie icons, or the breathtaking stars in magazines. Even the curling iron was a purchase I had to negotiate on my own.

Even within Somerville, DLS was gently encouraged to dress a bit more quietly when she arrived at breakfast one morning “wearing a three-inch wide scarlet riband round her head and in her ears a really remarkable pair of ear-rings; a scarlet and green parrot in a gilt cage pendant almost to each shoulder and visible right across the hall.”26

Valerie reached up and pulled off her earrings. “These are no longer a symbol of us!” she said, and threw the earrings into the grass behind her. Another girl joined her and started raising her own symbols in the air. She picked up a pair of pantyhose and threw them away. Another girl threw her purse about 30 feet. They’d obviously been told beforehand to bring all the symbols of girlhood because everyone seemed to have something to throw away—jewelry, acrylic nails, perfume, and makeup. Patty raised up a can of hairspray and shot it out into the air, waving it to show the stream. Just then, Mark, head of Clean Up Kidsboro, flew out of a nearby bush. He had obviously been watching them to make sure they finished the bathroom. But now, I had a feeling he thought the feminists had gone too far. “Hey! Stop that!” he yelled. Most of the girls ignored him, including Patty, who continued spraying. “Those are harmful chemicals!” he protested. She continued to ignore him. “Stop spraying!” he yelled, jumping up and snatching the can from her hand. Some of the girls finally noticed that there was a boy present, and their frenzy came to an abrupt halt. “What are you people doing?” Mark shouted. “You’re killing us! My organization is relying on you. You’re supposed to be digging a latrine, not spraying deadly chemicals in the air!” “We’re just about to dig,” Patty said. “Well, get started, then! You’ve only got 24 hours, or we lose our funding!” “How about it, girls?” Valerie shouted, trying to regain the momentum

She snuck in another stroke. “Was it a just-because? I love just-because presents the best. Last month McNab gave me the cutest pair of earrings—like chains of hearts—just because. You know a guy’s stuck on you if he springs for just-because jewelry of any kind.

Marjan chose a cream dress with a nice scooped collar, one that revealed her slender collarbones and neck. Instead of the high boots of the earlier evening, she slipped on a pair of tan leather pumps over her stocking-clad feet. With her hair tied back and her mother's ruby earrings, she felt just about ready. She took her best coat from the rack and opened the kitchen door. Julian looked at her hungrily as she stepped out of the back gate. "Breathless," he said, shaking his head. "That's what you do to me, Miss Aminpour. Leave me breathless.